


Time to be Spontaneous

by ncfan



Series: Fictober 2018 [8]
Category: Adventure Time
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Fictober 2018, Getting Back Together, POV Female Character, short and fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 05:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16382459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncfan/pseuds/ncfan
Summary: Being in close quarters with Marceline again was... enlightening. [Written for Fictober 2018]





	Time to be Spontaneous

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt, “I’ve waited so long for this.”
> 
> My first attempt at Adventure Time fic, and it’s a prompt fic. Oh boy. Fair warning, I don’t have the firmest grasp on Adventure Time-style diction.

Marceline stuck around at the cabin after that first night, said it’d be easier to keep the varmints out of the pumpkin patch if they slept in shifts. “You’re strung out, Bonnie, and I don’t think Creepy over there’s doing a whole lot better.” Peppermint Butler had glared at this—Bonnibel would never really be sure if it was ‘creepy’ he’d responded to, or the fact that Marceline had noticed he was tired; she wasn’t sure she _wanted_ to know which he’d responded to—but had said nothing. “Seriously, Bonnie, I’m sticking around. I haven’t got any gigs lined up right now; I haven’t got anywhere else to be."

Bonnibel hadn’t fought that hard against it. She supposed she could have put more effort into it, but truth be told, some extra help would have been nice. Finn and Jake would have helped if she’d asked them, she was sure of that, but something that Bonnibel knew would have identified itself as her pride on even a cursory examination demanded she enlist as little help as possible. Bonnibel just… There was a weird need inside, the need to prove herself self-sufficient, which made _no_ sense because she’d been capable of taking care of herself—and others—practically since she separated from the Mother Gum. But it was there, and there was no use avoiding it.

So Marcie stuck around after that first night—after a brief trip home to pick up her reds so here wouldn’t be any _incidents_ —and Bonnibel… didn’t know how to handle that. They’d been friendly again for a while, but now it felt like they were actually _friends_ again, and the feelings that accompanied that were the quintessential sweet and the bitter.

Bonnibel could hardly remember the break-up. Oh, she knew why it had happened, why their relationship had ended. The simplest of things, really, and she remembered the why all too clearly. What was considerably less vivid was the actual moment when it had been over. Had they had a fight, or had they just drifted apart in stale, still bitterness? Bonnibel couldn’t really remember. It had been too many years. All that was left for Bonnibel was a commingled stew of nostalgia, bitterness, regret, and something like guilt.

She’d needed to focus on her people. Marcie could get nasty in a fight, but somehow, Bonnibel didn’t think she’d handled it all that well, herself. She didn’t do ‘people’ well enough for deftness in breaking up with somebody. She’d needed to focus on her people.

The exact moment of the break-up had been lost to the mists of time. Unfortunately for her nerves, Bonnibel had also forgotten what it was like being in close quarters with Marceline for extended periods of time.

Marcie had certain habits that Bonnibel would have thought would irritate her. After all, Marceline wasn’t the _cleanest_ person around, and Bonnibel was, well, there was a reason she insisted upon her bedroom being every bit as sterile as her lab. Dirt and certain fluids had their place, and their place was _outside_. Bonnibel had expected (been afraid; this thing was newly-reborn and fragile and she didn’t want to crush it the way you’d crush an egg in your hands) that Marceline’s tendency to mouth off would have gotten on her nerves. Or maybe it would have been her sloppiness.

But either Marceline was deliberately refraining from exercising those traits, or Bonnibel just wasn’t noticing them, because what she was feeling at being in close quarters with Marceline again for the first time in ages, it wasn’t irritation.

 _Hormones, hormones, hormones_ , Bonnibel thought shakily. _Ugh, that makes no sense. I don’t even have the right anatomy to have hormones. It should be her with the stinkin’ hormones, not me…_

It was, basically, this: Marceline’s hair smelled nice. Bonnibel didn’t know what kind of shampoo (or was it conditioner?) she used, but it was _awesome_. It almost made her wish her hair was constructed in such a way to let her use shampoo, too, just so she could carry the scent with her wherever she went. Her hair smelled nice, and on the occasion when their arms brushed against each other, Marceline’s skin felt soft and smooth and it made Bonnibel wish she had the right sort of nerves to feel a frisson. And Bonnibel had missed that smooth, smoky voice, that weird sense of humor, those little moments of considerateness, like Marcie checking on her in the wee hours of the morning to make sure she wasn’t getting too wound up from watching over the pumpkin patch, or helping with cooking even though it had been literally centuries since Marcie could last eat anything at all. It was everything and it was driving Bonnibel _nuts_.

Well, Marceline was herself a very spontaneous person (Bonnibel knew; Bonnibel remembered; Bonnibel was unlikely to forget), and maybe Bonnibel could stand to take a page out of her book.

So one morning, while Marceline was tuning her base, Bonnibel just sort of… pounced.

Marceline laughed incredulously and let out a high-pitched “ _What_?” when Bonnibel pulled back from her face long enough to take a deep, shuddering breath. Her heart—she did have one, even if it wasn’t constructed in the same way as Marceline’s or Finn’s or Jake’s—was hammering like a battering ram against her flesh. Or was it a drumstick on a drum? Who knew; coherent thought was crawling into the backseat and out the back window.

“Shut up,” Bonnibel muttered, before tilting her head for another kiss. “I’ve waited so long for this; just shut up.”

Another laugh, this one hoarse and right at Bonnibel’s ear. “Well, you wouldn’t have _had_ to wait so long if you could’ve gotten your head out of your ass sooner,” she said, sing-song.

“Oh, please, my head was underwater; I felt like I was drowning in everybody else’s problems.” She still did, even though she wasn’t the one in charge. Maybe she would have been feeling a little more secure if the new ruler of the Candy Kingdom wasn’t a wax fraud who wanted to make money off of her sweet, scared brother. Or maybe she would have still felt like this. She didn’t have to think coherently to be incredibly worried.

“Sure, Bonnie, sure. Hey.” Her voice was a deep rumble that resonated in Bonnibel’s flesh, like the first rumblings of an earthquake, like the feeling of the world changing all over again. “Tell your creepy butler to clear out of the house for a while.”

Bonnibel smiled against Marceline’s cheek, her heart in her throat. “Can do.”


End file.
